


quiet my heart

by emavee



Series: unconditional [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Acrobat Dick Grayson, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Can be read as a stand alone, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Gen, Panic Attacks, Young Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29494083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Bruce didn’t have any issues when they signed Dick up for gymnastics, but now he’s staring up at the trapeze way, way, way above the ground and all he can think about is the last time he saw someone perform on one of those.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: unconditional [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155143
Comments: 13
Kudos: 183





	quiet my heart

Bruce didn’t have any issues when they signed Dick up for gymnastics. Actually, he was pretty relieved when it significantly decreased the number of chandelier-swinging and bookshelf-climbing incidents. 

Gymnastics wasn’t a problem. Dick was a bundle of energy, and on a good day it took reading at least three chapters of his book to get him to finally fall asleep. The gymnastics classes had finally given him a good outlet to get all that energy out. Honestly, it was saving Bruce’s life. Now he didn’t end every single day bone-dead exhausted. 

He loves Dick, he really, really does, but his introverted bones were not meant for this kind of excitement every single day.

No, gymnastics had been great, until Dick’s coach said he wouldn’t be allowed to take her class anymore. Or any other class at the gym. 

Apparently, Dick is incredibly skilled (of course he is, he’s one of the best acrobats in the world, and Bruce is so, so proud of how talented he is), but he has a hard time with the structure of the classes. They weren’t advanced enough for him, and he got bored waiting for other kids to learn skills he’d mastered when he was four or five.

A bored Dick, Bruce knows, is a dangerous Dick. The coaches said they were really sorry, but Dick was too much of a liability to have in their classes anymore and maybe he should try and find a gym that offered a more advanced curriculum.

Dick had understandably been crushed, and Bruce had been furious, but in the end it was final. Dick would have to find someplace else to practice his acrobatics. And if they couldn’t find a place, then damn it, Bruce would build one himself if he had to.

In the end he didn’t have to build a whole acrobatics studio from the ground up, but he did pay to expand upon the tiny little aerial gym over in Bludhaven that was the closest thing he or Alfred could find that might meet Dick’s needs. He’d had some equipment like mats and parallel bars set up in the manor for Dick to use whenever he wanted, but there wasn’t enough space for a trapeze, not to mention the fact that neither Bruce nor Alfred had the knowledge to actually teach Dick anything new. He needed real instructors, people who understood enough to help Dick keep this connection to his parents and his old life alive.

So for the past four months, three days a week, Alfred drove Dick forty-five minutes across the river after school for his lessons. Mondays and Wednesdays he took an advanced acrobatics class, and on Friday had private lessons with the best aerial instructors Bruce could find. 

It was perfect. Until it wasn't.

Bruce didn’t have any issues when they signed Dick up for gymnastics, but now he’s staring up at the trapeze way, way, way above the ground and all he can think about is the last time he saw someone perform on one of those.

Dick’s studio is having a showcase night where all their students can show off what they’ve been learning, and when Dick had first told Bruce all about it, bouncing and grinning and so, so excited, Bruce had wanted nothing more than to see his boy perform. He’s so unbelievably proud of Dick and how far he’s come, and he knows Dick is damn talented.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, chum. I’m sure you’ll be the best one there,” he’d said, meaning every word. Dick’s smile had been like a supernova and he’d wrapped his little arms around Bruce’s waist tightly in response. 

Dick is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him. Dick is the best thing in his life, and right now all he can see is that best thing falling down, down, down and Bruce is helpless to watch as he screams and lands, as he shatters. 

Bruce remembers the sounds of the Graysons hitting the ground. He remembers the smell of the blood and the snap of bones and the screams all around him, Dick’s the loudest of all. He remembers the dawning horror in his gut that quickly morphed into cold, helpless terror that left him frozen and helpless in his seat. He remembers little boys and bodies hitting the ground, the splatter of blood and the snap of wires  ~~ the crack of a gunshot ~~ .

Instead of watching Dick finish up his warm up like the rest of the parents, Bruce bolts from the gym, doesn’t stop until he feels the cold air hit his lungs and cool bricks press against his back. 

Dick is falling. The wires are snapping and Dick is falling and Bruce is just watching the world end. Over and over and over and—

“Master Bruce?” The voice sounds distant and distorted, like he’s underwater. He can’t breathe.

Dick is falling and Bruce is dying, just like Dick’s parents just like his own parents. He can’t… Dick can’t…

“Master Bruce.” He jerks back, banging his head as soft, worn hands reach for his own, holding them and squeezing gently. “Whatever is running through your mind, I can assure you it is not real, my boy.”

“Dick,” he gasps. Why can’t he breathe?

“Master Dick is fine. He’s just inside, getting ready. He is completely unharmed.”

Bruce shakes his head because that’s just not possible. Dick was so high up there’s no way anyone could have survived that fall.

“He did not fall, and he’s not going to.” Alfred. Such a mind reader. Bruce loves Alfred so much, but he's wrong. Dick is going to fall, and he knows he won’t be able to survive losing Dick. “Even if he did,” Alfred tacks on, soft and gentle, thumb rubbing rhythmically across Bruce’s knuckles, “there is a net to catch him. He would be just fine.”

A net. The Graysons didn’t have a net. But. Dick does. Of course he does. Bruce would never let him use a facility that didn’t.

He blinks slowly, only suddenly aware that his eyes are stinging and his cheeks feel wet. Alfred stands in front of him in the alleyway behind the studio, his brows pinched as he watches Bruce try to pull himself together. He focuses on Alfred’s hands to ground him and after several minutes, finally manages some semblance of order.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Bruce croaks out, throat raw and aching. This isn’t even his trauma. It’s Dick’s. It shouldn’t be getting to Bruce like this. “Dick has no problems with it… and he was the one who…”

“None of that,” Alfred chides gently. “Deep breaths, Master Bruce, and get that nonsense out of your head. You know perfectly well that your feelings are valid. I have heard you tell that dear child over and over that feelings are not  _ wrong _ or  _ right, _ they just are. You must apply those same principles to yourself.”

“But Dick—”

“Trauma is different for everyone,” Alfred interrupts, reaching up to fix Bruce’s hair and brush the stray tears from his cheeks. “You cannot help the way it manifests.”

He nods, feeling helpless. He still thinks he’s being ridiculous. If Dick isn’t afraid, then Bruce shouldn’t be either.

“I know it does very little to calm these thoughts,” Alfred continues, tapping lightly at Bruce’s forehead as he does so, “but nothing is going to happen. Master Dick will be just fine. No harm will come to him.”

“There’s a net, I know—”

“There is. And there are people who check the equipment rigorously every day, including Master Dick himself. He is safe and happy, I assure you.”

Bruce breathes in deep and holds it for just a moment. The Bludhaven air is somehow even worse than Gotham’s, and he’s really starting to feel the chill of the air stinging at his cheeks and ears. 

“I just… I love him so much. I can’t lose him.”

“And you won’t. Here is what we’re going to do now: you and I are going to go back in there, find a seat, and watch our boy perform his heart out. He is going to be just fine, and I will be right beside you the entire time. I have seen a preview of his show, and I must say, it is quite spectacular.”

Bruce nods. “I know he is.” That’s the problem. He can’t bear to lose him.

Alfred studies his face carefully, his own expression unreadable. With one last squeeze to Bruce’s hands, he pulls away. “Are you alright to go back inside?”

“Yes,” he says. He can do this. For Dick. Everything would be okay.

“Come then,” Alfred says. “Let us watch our boy fly.”

Not fall. Fly.

* * *

Dick grins at him from the top platform and Bruce’s stomach lurches dangerously. 

Alfred takes his hand again, and Bruce does his best to keep from shaking as Dick leaps off of the platform. 

Bruce is so thankful that Alfred is recording the show because Bruce’s heart is beating so loud in his ears that it’s hard to really concentrate on Dick. Which is a damn shame because even when the edges of his vision go fuzzy, Dick is a sight to behold. Bruce is half convinced that the kid has wings with how graceful he is in the air. None of the other performers hold a candle to him, and he swears that’s not just Proud Dad Bruce talking. 

Afterwards, Dick takes an extravagant bow, feet planted firmly on the ground and Bruce can breathe again. He’s on his feet in an instant, cheering as his son beams brighter than sun.

* * *

“Bruce!” 

Bruce turns just in time for a tiny, brightly-colored body to slam into him. He catches Dick easily, hauling him up into his arms and spinning him around.

“Dickie, you were incredible!” He presses a kiss to Dick’s forehead, then his cheek and nose in quick succession, just to see him giggle.

“Thanks for coming, B,” Dick says, relaxing against Bruce’s chest and squishing his cheek against Bruce’s neck.

“Like I said, chum, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” No matter how terrifying it was. “I like your costume.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, a little more reserved now. He plucks lazily at the red, yellow, and green sequins. “It’s our colors. I asked specifically.”

Kissing his temple, Bruce squeezes his kid even tighter. “They would be so proud of, kiddo.”

“You think so?” he asks, turning wide eyes towards Bruce.

“I  _ know _ so.”

“How can you be sure?”

Bruce swallows the lump in his throat. “Because I am. And I know exactly how they would feel.” 

This has to be what the Grayson’s felt when they held their son, this swoop in his chest and so much happiness he thinks he just might burst. The way his parents surely felt when they first held Bruce, even if he isn’t half as extraordinary as Dick is. 

The way parents look at their children.

Dick buries his face in Bruce’s shirt, his little nose digging into the meat of Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce?”

“Yeah, chum?”

“Can we get ice cream?” He doesn’t even bother lifting his head, voice muffled against the fabric.

Bruce chuckles. “Sure. Let’s go find Alfred, alright? I left him to exchange numbers with some of the other parents who wanted the video from tonight’s performance.”

“Okay. You’re the very best, Bruce,” he says, finally turning his head. Bruce is relieved to find his face free of tear-tracks or watery eyes.

“You’re only saying that because of the mint chip moose tracks sundae I’m going to buy you.”

“Nuh uh,” Dick whines. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“I know,” Bruce soothes instantly, smoothing back the hair on Dick’s head. “I was just kidding.”

“Okay, good. As long as you know."

"You were so incredible,” Bruce says again, pressing a kiss to Dick’s temple as he makes a mental note to rewatch it when they get home. That way he’ll be able to really see just how good Dick is without worrying about how the show will end.

“Thanks, B. It felt really good to get to perform again. I was a little scared though.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, but I knew I would be safe. And I really loved getting to fly again.” He pauses, as if considering something. “Were you scared at all, Bruce?”

Damn kid. Too perceptive for his own good. “A little,” he admits, even if it's a ridiculous under-exaggeration. “But I always worry about you.”

Dick frowns. “That seems sad. You don’t have to worry about me, B. Definitely not _all_ the time.”

“But I do. It’s just what parents do, chum. We worry.”

“Oh.” Dick wiggles slightly, pulling back as much as he can while staying in Bruce’s arms. “I love you, B.”

Bruce’s heart races just as fast as it was earlier in the alley, but for entirely different reasons this time. All the pride and joy and affection he usually feels when he looks at Dick doubling, tripling, quadrupling in his chest until it steals the air from his lungs. 

“I love you too, chum.” 

Somehow those few little words earn him Dick’s most blinding smile to date, surely bright enough to power all of Gotham and then some. Bruce feels unworthy of it, but at the same time never wants to see it disappear. 

He’ll probably always be a little terrified watching Dick perform, but it’s worth it. It’s worth everything. All the worries, all the fear. Every single moment with his son is a moment he’ll treasure forever. 

This wonderful, incredible, magnificent child. The best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.


End file.
